Not Alone
by FreelyBeYourself
Summary: Missing scene fic. After officially becoming Captain of the Enterprise, Jim isn't as okay emotionally as his smile would lead one to believe. His mentor helps him see that even though he's struggling, he doesn't have to struggle alone. First attempt at fan fiction, so bear with me please. I may rewrite this later, depending on the response. Rated T only because I'm paranoid.


**This is my first attempt at writing fan fiction with the intent of showing it to anyone outside of my immediate family. Reviews and constructive criticism are more than welcome, but please remember that I'm not used to writing like this yet. **

**This is short because I haven't written anything for Star Trek before and I sort of just wanted to try it out. I'll get better and I'll write longer stories once I get used to fan fiction writing.**

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own Star Trek or any of its characters; Paramount does. **

*********StarTrek*********

Slowly, the auditorium began to clear. For eight whole minutes the Hero of the Federation had been standing in front of his peers as they clapped and cheered, loudly congratulating him for his promotion. They'd been eight of the most gratifying moments of his life, but now that the required speech and press conference was over, the new Captain was ready to leave. His best friend and acting-CMO had done a great job patching up his various injuries on the long trip back to Earth after the Nerada incident, but it would be a lie to say that he wasn't still feeling the bruises on his chest and back. As the last of his Academy classmates filtered out of the room, the Captain of the Enterprise let out a relieved breath. The room was starting to feel claustrophobic, and he wanted to get out of there.

"Captain Kirk!" a familiar voice called out just as he was turning to leave, and Kirk froze on instinct, mouthing a particularly nasty word before turning to face the other person.

"Admiral Pike!" Kirk's annoyance melted away as he stepped back up to his wheelchair-bound mentor. "Congratulations on the promotion." The cheeky comment was rewarded by an eye-roll from the older man.

"You, too, Jim," was all Pike said. Then, "Kid, sit down, will you? You're hurting my neck, making me look up at you like that." Jim grinned and did as the Admiral asked, sitting in the nearest chair.

"So, Jim, how are you doing?" Pike asked.

"I'm great," Jim replied, flashing his trademark smirk and ignoring the deeper meaning to Admiral Pike's question. "I've taken over your ship, I've become the Federation's poster boy, and I've finally learned my Communications officer's first name. I don't think I've ever been better."

The two men shared a laugh, but Pike's eyes were concerned as they roamed over Jim's face. With a critical eye, Pike looked at the young man who had become like a son to him. Jim was obviously exhausted; his eyes looked bruised, and he wondered how he hadn't noticed this during the ceremony. The smirk that Jim was trying so hard to keep on his face was slowly turning into an ugly grimace filled with pain. What was more concerning to the Admiral, however, was the way Jim's body was shaking. Even sitting down, Jim seemed to be having a hard time remaining upright. Christopher Pike was no medical expert, but to him it seemed that Jim was even having trouble breathing the right way.

_Panic attack, _he thought. Sighing, he wheeled a bit closer to the younger man and put a comforting hand on his knee. Pike had known Jim for three years now, and in that time the two had become closer than was normal for a cadet and his superior officer. If Christopher Pike knew anything at all about James Kirk, it was that Kirk would not show willingly show weakness. He would not give in to his emotions in public, no matter how much he might need to. And he would absolutely _not_ open up to Chris about whatever was bothering him.

With that in mind, Admiral Pike allowed the newly appointed Captain to sit for a moment, collecting himself. Jim looked up with a grateful nod, before rising to his feet.

"Permission to leave, sir," Captain Kirk asked formally. Against his better judgment, Pike nodded, straightening in his chair.

"Dismissed."

Jim didn't need to be told twice. He left the auditorium quickly, heading for the one place he had always avoided: the Kelvin memorial in the middle of the campus. He trudged across the campus grounds quickly, ducking his head whenever the more enthusiastic cadets looked his way. Through some miracle, he managed to seat himself on a bench a few feet away from the memorial of his father's death without being accosted by cadets, crew members, or worse – the media.

"Dad, why did you have to leave me here alone?" the words sprang from his mouth unbidden, and Jim instantly knew he'd made a mistake. He shouldn't be here, sitting in front of what was, for all intents and purposes, his father's grave. No; he should be at the dirtiest bar he could find, drinking until he couldn't tell his left side from his right, and fighting the biggest and meanest people he could provoke into a brawl.

With that in mind Jim tried to rise from the bench he was sitting on, only to fall back down when his legs couldn't support his weight. A weight like lead began pressing on his chest, and for a brief moment Jim wondered if this is what his father felt as he flew the Kelvin towards its destruction.

Why was he here? His father had died; what had caused this sick and twisted road that's called life to decide to let Jim live? Everyone thought that Jim was a hero. They'd all cheered for him for eight straight minutes. His crew had followed his directions despite their initial uncertainty. The media had dubbed him the "Hero of the Federation". Everyone thought he was wonderful. There wasn't a child living that wouldn't remember James T Kirk. Jim knew that he'd probably be the topic of discussion in many households; he'd be the object of children's fantasies. He thought of his younger self, and how he'd occasionally reenact the Kelvin disaster with his brother. He'd always gotten the role of playing their father. Who would play Jim's role? Because Jim knew that someone, somewhere, was going to idolize him. The thought was terrifying.

The truth was, Jim wasn't wonderful. He wasn't a hero. He was a nobody. His father was someone special; he'd selflessly given his life to save his crew, his wife, and his unborn son. George Kirk was a hero.

But Jim? Jim was less than beach trash. Jim was more of a nuisance than a splinter in someone's finger, or a headache during the middle of an astrophysics exam. He hadn't sacrificed anything. He'd taken over command of the Enterprise not because he thought he could do anything better than Spock could have done, but because his whole being was fixed on avenging his father's death. Destroying Nero was the only thing on Jim's mind. He hadn't spared a thought for the millions of men and women who were now calling him their hero.

Where George Kirk was selfless, Jim Kirk was selfish. Where George Kirk was special, Jim Kirk was worthless. Where George Kirk was cool, calm, and collected in the face of death, Jim Kirk had panicked, turning tail and running.

The pressure on Jim's chest grew unbearable, and finally he couldn't hold it back anymore. A scream of agony which was more emotional than it was physical tore its way from the Captain's mouth, and then the young man broke, sobbing into his hands. He sat there crying on the bench for what could have been an eternity, but a movement in the corner of his eye startled him and he realized he wasn't as alone as he thought he was.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He snapped at his mentor, embarrassed at being caught in the middle of an emotional breakdown.

"I was worried about you," Pike answered, not bothering to hide the truth. Jim flinched.

"Yeah," he scoffed, clearly taking Pike's answer as a personal attack. "Because you know the real me, and you know that I can't be trusted to take care of a tribble, let alone captain a ship. You're just looking for an excuse to get me fired, because you know as well as I do that I'm a loser and a worthless idiot –"

"No," Christopher said, interrupting Jim's self-deprecating tirade. "I'm here not because you're weak, but because you're strong – too strong for your own good sometimes, and this is one of those times. I'm here because I know you can captain a ship, but I also know that you don't think you can. I'm here because I know you, Jim, and I know that you look at yourself and see death where everyone else sees life. I'm not here because I don't care. I'm here because I _do._"

There was silence for a moment as Jim pondered that, but then the younger man shook his head.

"You're lying," he said uncertainly. "You can't wait to tell everyone that I wasn't strong enough; that I came and cried at my father's grave like a child. You don't care."

Admiral Pike sighed. "Jim," he said, "Look at me." The Admiral waited for Jim to meet his gaze in order to drive the point home more effectively. "It's okay not to be okay." Hesitantly, Jim nodded. Christopher continued, "I know you're not in the best place right now, mentally. It's okay, Jim. I'm not here to condemn you. I'm here to support you. It's okay."

Jim looked up at the sky. The clouds had moved in to cover the sun, and as he stared up at the grey that was everywhere, a raindrop landed on his nose. The rain grew steadily heavier.

"Jim," Christopher said, "You're going to be okay."

As the rain continued to pour down on the two men, Jim stared down at his father's name on the Kelvin memorial. He was James T Kirk, Captain of the Enterprise, but he was also so much more than that. He was JT, he was Jim, he was Jimmy, and to a certain young lady he had even taken on the role of Uncle Jim… he was so many things to so many people, and he was not alone. For the first time in years, Jim closed his eyes and thought ahead to the future, and realized that a ray of hope was beginning to shine through the darkness in his mind. He looked at his mentor… his father figure.

"Yeah," Jim agreed, offering a ghost of a smile. "I am."


End file.
